


Thundersnow

by vetiverite



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: FiKi December Challenge, Gen, Grocery Shopping, Happy Ending, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Rescue, Schmoop, Wilderness Survival, hobbit au, recommended reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21833077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: Kili's suffering from cabin fever, but a snowstorm is predicted.  Fili would prefer him to stay home.  Nevertheless, a trip to the Rivendell Trading Company for supplies is in the cards... helped along by a very unusual guide.
Relationships: Fíli & Kíli (Tolkien), Fíli/Kíli (Tolkien)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17
Collections: GatheringFiKi - 12 Days OF Christmas 2019





	Thundersnow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Far Over The Misty Mountains Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408446) by Anonymous. 



> Inspired by and in the universe of Linane's Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold.

Fíli found the snowshoes tucked into the cabin eaves the first winter he lodged there. Made of bent ashwood, their rawhide webbing ragged with rot, they looked like a souvenir from a bygone century. He hung them on the wall over the fireplace, one shoe crossed over the other, as a conversation starter.

Two hours after Kíli laid eyes on them, they vanished. 

Three months later, they reappeared on his feet.

Beaming, he strapped them on and tramped up to the treeline and back to show Fíli his work. He’d fortified the frames and crossbars to make them sturdy, removed the old webbing and replaced it with brand new rawhide, intricately woven by his own hands. Then he’d varnished the whole of each shoe to make it watertight.

 _Where did you learn to do all this?_ Fíli marveled.

 _From a book,_ replied Kíli.

Kíli’s book collection fit on a single four-foot plank of wood threaded between two cinderblocks. Prior to this, he’d kept them in his car, lovingly lined up on the back seat as though they were his kids. _They’ve been everywhere with me,_ he told Fíli.

_Everywhere?_

_Everywhere._

Kíli was very exacting about how his books should be arranged. Though dog-eared and held together by yards of tape, they deserved to be treated like a bona fide library. He duly arranged them according to their contents. There were wilderness manuals, homesteading guides, blueprints for reviving old, forgotten crafts. There were spiritual books, mythologies and hero-quests, accounts of epic road trips in Cadillacs or on camelback. Then there were what Kíli called his “rainy-day crying books”— well-worn novels he pulled out when backed-up tears needed releasing. Sometimes Fíli would find him curled up on their bed, sniffling, turning pages, and nibbling on trail mix all at the same time.

Every single book Kíli owned meant something deeply personal to him. When he felt stir-crazy and discontented, just pulling one out and looking at its cover settled his restless mind. He couldn’t help but talk up his library. Everyone who stopped by the cabin went home with an assigned reading list.

 _Look at your friends!_ Fíli teased, watching Kíli load up his brand new shelf. _I can just see you trying to lug them all with you, out to the back of beyond. Or maybe you wouldn’t have had to—you’ve probably read them so many times, you’ve memorized them._

He never imagined for one minute that Kíli had done more than that. 

There are two kinds of lost people in this world: those who don’t mean to get lost, but do, and those who get lost on purpose. Kíli had been one of the latter. 

Not long after Fíli took him in, he confessed that he hadn’t been just another hapless daytripper out on the slopes on the day of the storm. He’d joined the tour to get the lay of the land—literally, not figuratively. In fact, when the storm hit, he’d already separated from the group in search of a likely camp. Had he not, he’d have been among those struck by lightning. That scared Fíli, but what Kíli confessed to him scared him even more.

_You were going to WHAT?!_

_Come back later, after dark. Saddle up my pack, hike in and just…_ disappear _. I know how! I’ve done it before!_ Kíli hastened to reassure his man.

It didn’t work.

 _You cannot tell me you were actually going to LIVE out there!_ Fíli shouted, certain that Kíli did not have the faintest idea how. _Don’t you understand there are mountain lions?_ _Or coyotes? Or BEAR? How about avalanches, rockslides— or that bloody storm that very nearly killed you?_

 _Well… sure, but it’s a moot point now, isn’t it? Mountain Rescue found me._ You _found me. You_ saved _me._

_If it weren’t for pure kismet, I might not have done either!_

_But you did,_ wheedled Kili. _Doesn’t that tell you something? Like, I couldn’t last a day without you?_

And Fíli loved Kíli, so he let himself believe it. But the minute he saw those snowshoes, he knew he’d underestimated this particular stray.

The morning of the thundersnow, Fili stood on the porch with a deep mug of coffee in hand, tiptoeing around the edges of an argument.

 _I could go with you,_ he said. _We’ve got the snowmobile._

Doubled over to adjust his snowshoe straps, Kíli laughed. Each breath instantly turned into a little white dragon-puff in the cold. _The snowmobile’s a bit much for just going down to the general store,_ he said. _If I were going into Dale, maybe… oh! I’ve got my gloves, but the list—_

_I put it in your zippered pocket. Kíli, listen…_

_Are we making chili for tonight or tomorrow? Because it’s always better when it gets to cook slow, and it’s really best on the second day—_

_We’ll make it tonight for tomorrow, then, and have cheese sandwiches instead—Kíli!_ Fíli stepped forward and laid one of his wool-sock-clad feet on top of Kíli’s hiking boot. _Why can’t I go with you?_

Kíli’s gaze was sweet, but his tone was final. _For reasons._

_But snow’s coming._

_Not until tonight._

_It could be bad._

_I’ll be home long before then. Listen, I just have a bit of cabin fever, yeah? I need to move, that’s all._

_You_ have _to be careful, all right? I know you know what you’re doing, and I trust you to do it, but if anything happened to you… You’ve got your walkie? Your flare?_

Kíli unzipped his parka to show Fíli his chest pack, equipped with a GMRS hand radio, laser flare, trail map, bear spray, lip balm, and homemade pemmican in a tight-sealed bag.

Fíli smirked. _I don’t see a wallet._

_Fuck._

Oversight corrected, Kíli stole a coffee-scented kiss from his man. _That worry line between your eyes had better be gone when I get back,_ he warned before pulling his balaclava up over his nose and flipping down his parka hood. 

_The moment I hear you stamping the snow off,_ Fíli told him, _it will disappear._

But as he watched Kíli tramp over the hill on his snowshoes, tugging his red plastic drag sled behind them, Fíli knew that he’d lied. Even if it didn’t show on his face, he _always_ worried. He might trust Kíli, but he didn’t trust the perilous world they both walked in.

For reasons.

Out under the evergreens, trudging along in a world of white, Kíli felt happiness like light glowing within him. There wasn’t much snow back home in the Blue Mountains, where winter only brought endless chill drizzle. What snow DID fall was wet and clumpy, nothing you’d want to spend too much time in. Certainly not deep and plush and powdery, like here.

After successive melts and refreezes, the service road was a fucking luge run. Kíli preferred the broader of the two hiking paths that veered through the woods near the cabin. Fresh snow had fallen two days ago, giving him a good surface to snowshoe on. He felt confident in his own skills— not _cocky_ , though; Fíli had schooled that habit out of him.

If you kept a steady pace, the downhill trek usually took an hour and a half. For the trip back up – factoring in the uphill grade and a sled weighted with groceries – add another hour, say. But Kíli believed in taking his time, conserving his strength. He wasn’t running a marathon, after all. It was more important to focus on his surroundings. You don’t want to get bowled over by a mountain lion because you’re looking at your watch.

But it wasn’t a mountain lion Kíli encountered that day. It was a snowshoe hare, sitting right smack in the middle of the path not four feet in front of him.

Now, snowshoe hares are by no means an uncommon sight on the Lonely Mountain. But right off the bat, Kíli could tick off at least five things that weren’t right about _this_ one.

 _One:_ it was out during the day. Everyone knows that unless it’s mating season, hares are dusk-to-dawn creatures who prefer to graze in the shadowy between-time. 

_Two:_ it was out in the open, where any predator could have swooped in and taken it.

 _Three:_ its coat was still brown. Above a certain latitude, animals on both sides of the predator-prey line turn white to blend in with both snowdrift and sky. This one hadn’t even begun.

 _Four:_ it showed zero fear. Rather than bolt or freeze like others of its kind, it reared up on its haunches to smooth its ears down with its front paws. Then it dropped down and stared askance at Kíli as if to show what it thought about HIM being a threat.

 _Five:_ it had left no tracks in the snow. Not one. It could have just been _dropped_ it in the middle of the path by space aliens. Or a drone. Or…

Kíli’s mind automatically scrabbled through all of what he’d absorbed from his books, looking for stray hints. He mentally flipped through wildlife identification guides, tracker’s booklets, tomes on world mythology, even _Watership Down._ But before he could lay a virtual finger on the answer, the hare simply bounded into the underbrush.

Two hours later, as he unstrapped his snowshoes on the porch of the Rivendell Trading Company, Kíli breathed in deeply through his nose. The air smelled of balsam fir needles, woodsmoke… and snow. On-its-way snow. The sky off to the west had that strange cottony opaqueness that suggested he should trust his senses.

And Fíli’s.

Insofar as Elrond the storekeeper ever looked happy to see anyone, he seemed happy to see Kíli. With the sharp drop-off in foot traffic come Thanksgiving and park staff retreating downslope to Dale, Fíli and Kíli were often the only people Elrond might lay eyes on in a week.

 _Yer man radioed,_ he informed Kíli in typical curt frontier style.

Kíli pulled his balaclava down to expose a puzzled face. _He didn’t radio_ me _. What’s wrong?_

_Nothin’. Just wants ya to hurry. Snow’s comin’._

_I know. I can smell it._

_He read me yer list._ Elrond gestured to the counter, where he had everything already laid out. Dried beans and canned tomatoes for the chili, a mesh bag of onions, a sack of baking potatoes, boxes of bran and cornmeal and powdered milk, a can of shortening for frybread and two bottles of hurricane lamp oil.

 _Got mail, too,_ added the storekeeper. 

_It came?_ Kíli’s heartbeat began to rev. _It’s here?_

It wasn’t often that a twinkle of mischief lit Elrond’s world-weary eyes. _It’s here all right_ , he drawled.

On the counter – under a fat rubber-banded stack of cards and letters – sat a big poly bubble parcel. With a whoop, Kíli knocked aside the envelopes, tossed the parcel into the air, caught it and did a little heavy-booted clog dance on the creaky floorboards.

 _Whoa, now, hold up, son! Comin’ here actin’ like a…_ scolded Elrond, mostly for show, of course. He waved Kíli away. _Get the rest of yer shoppin’ done, kid. I wanna lock up early._

Man cannot live on freeze-dried, vacuum-packed camp rations alone. At some point in his tenure on the mountain, Elrond made the wise decision to start stocking “fancy health stuff”. Today, Kíli augmented his grocery pile with miso paste, nutritional yeast flakes, dried figs and apricots, and a jug of dark buckwheat honey for brewing short mead. _We’ll bring you some,_ he told Elrond, and Elrond replied, _You do that,_ even though they both knew Elrond didn’t drink. Point being, up on the mountain, the _thought_ was what counted.

 _Hey, uh, kid,_ Elrond said now. _Dwalin just dropped me a line from the Eagle’s Nest. Snow’s comin’ faster’n they predicted, and it’s gonna be a doozy. There’s a fella name of Balin taking pictures up by the Clover Gully Hut. He drives an old Snow Trac. I want you to let him take you home._

_You want me to hitch a ride with a stranger?_

_He ain’t a stranger; he’s been with the state park service for years. Now, don’t argue with me, son; we both know Fíli’s pacin’ the floor. You just head on up to Clover Gully. Shouldn’t take you more’n twenty minutes. Balin’ll zip you right home to Fíli— be nice if you offered him lodging for the night._

_But—_

_No buts, kid. I’ll radio ahead. Git a move on— and take these with you._ Elrond slapped half a dozen flat cardboard packs and a tall bottle down on the counter. _For your big surprise._

Kíli leaned closer, then broke out in a delighted grin.

Watch batteries and whiskey: perfect together.

En route to Clover Gully, a blustering wind rose up to rattle the trees on either side of the trail. At least Kíli _thought_ it was the trail; it was getting hard to tell in the ever-thickening snowfall. Elrond had been right. Picking up energy and speed over the valley, the storm had brewed itself into a right blizzard.

For the first time, Kíli felt more than just pride in his reconditioned snowshoes. Had he been forced to pull his foot out of a deepening snowdrift with every step, he almost certainly wouldn’t have made it this far. The snowshoes carried him aloft. But the vinyl tarp lashed over the grocery-laden drag sled was taking on such a heavy layer of snow that Kíli had to stop intermittently to knock it off; otherwise he’d be dragged backward down the hill by his own sled.

It was on one of these layovers that Kíli saw it again: the hare, waiting patiently right in his path. He tightened the tarp ties, checked to make sure everything was secure, and stood up to study his— friend? Foe? Harbinger of doom?

Suddenly – as if it had been handed to him – he received a mental image. A tattered old volume he’d once filched from his mother’s attic. He could clearly see its faded blue-green cloth cover embossed with the shape of a ladyslipper orchid, the title stamped in tarnishing gold: _Lore and Legend of Ered Luin_. He strained to remember what it had to say about hares… something about them sensing bad weather? More than that, though. According to some, they acted as guides to the underworld. But maybe that last part was far-fetched nonsense, served up by old-timers around the campfire…

Another flash of memory, this time of the annual Summer Ren Faire at Mithlond Community Park. There were jugglers and bellydancers and archers and – one year – a tame hare that ran through a maze mapped out on the lawn outside the rec center. It navigated without error, backwards and forwards, while costume-clad fair-goers cheered it on…

Maybe this one had a similar talent. Kíli pulled down his balaclava and softly said, _Hey there._

The hare turned its narrow head to stare at him with one expressionless eye. 

_Look, I know you have no stake in getting me to safety,_ Kíli told it. _But I hear your kind are really excellent trail guides. If you get me where I need to go, I’ll make sure there’s always fodder for you up by our cabin. Come spring, I’ll even plant a special garden for you so that you don’t have to maraud through Fíli’s. Deal?_

One blink. The nose quivered, testing the air. Then the hare hopped away a few steps— and looked back.

 _Give it a pocket watch,_ Kíli thought, _and it’d start singing “We’re late, we’re late, for a very important date…”_

 _Are we really doing this?_ he asked the hare out loud.

In answer, it hopped back toward him and stared at him with visible irritation until his feet moved. Then it shook itself from head to toe and began to lead the way, always staying just out of reach.

Soon the air became so thick with whipping snow that Kili began to pat his parka front, feeling for the laser flare tucked in his chest pack. Throughout it all, the hare stayed with him— waiting every time he stopped, starting up again when he did. They moved together, hare and human, and just when Kíli began to think he might have to use that flare after all, they came into a clearing. 

Maybe it was because of the open space, but the wind really seemed to be louder here, almost reminiscent of an oncoming freight train. _Isn’t that the last thing you hear before a tornado strikes?_ Kíli thought. _Do tornados ever happen on mountains?_

The hare led him in a wide half-circle until he could see highbeam headlights. As he began to stumble towards them, his companion – its mission accomplished as best as it could be – vanished into the whirling blizzard.

The waiting vehicle looked like a cross between a snowplow and a miniature tank. Kíli could actually feel the rumble of its running engine in the ground under his feet. Here, too, was the source of the freight-train sound—a trumpet-shaped contraption just above the passenger-side rearview mirror, blaring at top volume. 

_A horn,_ Kíli thought. _It’s a horn._

The cacophony cut off as soon as he entered the headlight field. The driver-side door swung open and a squat, downcoat-swaddled figure jumped down and gestured wildly for Kíli to come close. A gloved hand gripped his parka sleeve and leaned in to shout in his ear: _I understand I’m to give you a lift?_

_Yes! Are you Balin?_

_I am. Quick, now._

Working fast, he and Kíli hoisted the entire sled into the vehicle’s cabin and threw themselves bodily in after it. Balin slammed the door, scrambled into the driver’s seat, and twisted around to face Kíli, panting heavily. 

Sudden silence, sudden warmth, and the sheer relief of rescue made Kíli’s skull vibrate like a clock tower bell. With fingertips half-numb even under thick gloves, he picked at his balaclava until he managed to tug it down under his chin to show his face.

The other man did the same only in the other direction, pulling his ski mask up. A preposterously large and fluffy white beard sprung from underneath. Above the beard, a bulbous red nose; above that, nested in wrinkles, eyes as shiny-black as licorice.

 _Hullo!_ their owner chirped brightly. _Kíli, is it?_

_It is._

Balin pulled off one glove to offer a hand to Kíli. Like the rest of him, it was thick and stubby, a workman’s hand except for its nicely manicured nails. _Another five minutes and I’d have stopped waiting and started searching._

 _I’m really grateful_ — Kíli began.

_Think naught of it. Home’s up the South Alpine service road, yes? I know it well, though it’s been several—_

But Kíli simply couldn’t stand it anymore. He burst out, _Does this thing have its own TRAIN HORN?_

 _Ah! Yes! Very good guess! My old tub –_ here Balin lovingly patted the dashboard – _has undergone a number of bumps and knocks in her lifetime. Every time she has a major repair, I always buy her a wee gift afterward to allay her sufferings. Here’s another._ He turned a dial and a wave of blissfully hot air washed over Kíli’s half-frozen feet. Only then did he realize he still had his snowshoes lashed on.

Balin chuckled. _You’re fine. Strap in and thaw out, laddie. We’re moving out._

Within fifteen minutes, Kíli thought to himself, _I don’t care what it takes, we’re getting one of these._

Balin’s vehicle, a reconditioned 1981 Snow Trac, tackled the deepening snow like a dream. Its high beams sliced neatly through the whiteout, and its treads gripped the ground as if it was made of Velcro. It boasted a cabin large enough to have seated half a dozen hapless hikers in addition to Balin’s current passenger… and it had a cassette player, currently blasting “Dreaming” by Blondie.

 _What brought you up to the Gully today?_ Kíli asked over the din.

 _Ah, I’m photo-documenting the mountain’s historic buildings,_ Balin replied, turning the music down. _I head the restoration services team, you see. We track the condition of original structures and make repairs along very stringent guidelines. I suppose I could have sent one of my eager lackeys to do the job, but…_ He sighed, smiled. _It’s a labor of love for me. I grew up on this mountain. I’ve probably set foot in more byres, bothies, chalets, and snow-sheds than anyone else in the department._

_What about our cabin? Fíli’s, I mean? Is it historical?_

_It is not, though it was constructed along traditional lines. Wherever feasible, we wanted new to harmonize with old._ Twirling the variator to skirt a stone outcropping, Balin let out a rueful puff. _Our only failure was with the Eagle’s Nest— loathsome concrete slab!_ _But stable as a mountain in and of itself, which is the important thing come avalanche season._

_Were you staying there, with Dwalin?_

_Oh,_ noooooo _, no, lad! When I’m on assignment, it’s the Hostel for me. They’ve a marvelous new chef who has managed to bump the Guide ratings from three to three-and-a-half silmarils. Let’s hope he sticks around!_ Balin lowered his voice to a hoarse, dramatic whisper. _Nothing against Bilbo, but I’d be just as happy at the Eastern Lodge. Do you know, Bombur’s brother is playing live music now? Friday and Saturday nights, ladies drinks half-price!_

Kíli laughed. _I’ve heard he’s got some guitar chops… Ah! Look!_

A flash of lightning lit up the ridge and made the facets of seemingly every airborne snowflake glitter. A moment later came what sounded like a thousand kettle drums being struck all at once.

 _Thundersnow,_ said Balin.

They had rounded the last of a series of hairpin turns and reached the luge run portion of the service road—the final climb. High above, Fíli was pacing the floor just as Elrond predicted—flustered and at his wits’ end with worry, but lovely, and loving, and above all, _warm_.

_It’s… rrrrreally good whiskey,_ Fíli slurred.

 _You need it,_ Kíli whispered, topping him off. _Poor honey._

_What’d you, um, what were you saying about a rabbit?_

_Hare. We’ll chase it later, when you’re sober._

The three men – Fíli and Kíli on the loveseat, Balin in the rocker – all sat with sock-clad feet to the fire, tumblers in their hands, idyllic smiles on their lips. Eyes closed, Fíli tipped his tawny head back against the cushions. The relief soaking through his cells at having Kíli safely corralled at home was nearly as intoxicating as the whiskey.

 _I’m going upstairs,_ Kíli breathed in his ear. _Don’t even think about following me._

_Can’t moooove. But what are you—?_

_I mean it. Leave me to my devices. Balin?_ Winking at the older man, Kíli mouthed, _Keep him talking._

With that, Kíli disappeared up the hatch to the loft.

 _I’m most grateful for your hospitality,_ said Balin, swirling his tumbler. _Lord, it’s awful out! But a good cheese toastie for supper cures all._

 _’S nothing. I’m the thankful one. He…_ Fíli pointed to the beamed ceiling, from which a good many muffled crinkles, thumps, and curse words emanated. _He tends to stray sometimes._

_That I could see, he was right on track— found me without a hitch. What drove him, I believe, was you. He didn’t want to let you down._

A flicker of white light at the window; a low mutter of receding thunder.

 _He doesn’t._ Fíli hoisted himself up and set his glass rather overcarefully on the plank table. _He_ doesn’t _let me down. That’s the thing._ He glanced up at his guest. _D’you… d’you think I_ smother _him, Bal?_

_I think you care for him very much. His welfare is your welfare. His well-being, your well-being._

A growl from upstairs (… _GODDAMN BLOODY…!)_ and the sound of something small and metal, possibly a coin, rolling across the floor.

 _It’s just that he… he wants to do something, so off he goes and_ reads a book about it, and then he just… DOES _it. It always works. Everything goes well._ _But—_

 _One of these days, it might not._ Balin regarded Fíli with sympathetic eyes. _You’re the one who thinks of the dangers, the drawbacks, while he just runs off and makes what-ifs into realities_. Sympathy turned to gleaming sharpness. _And someday it’ll go tits up, and you might not be in the vicinity to say, I TOLD YOU SO._

 _‘Xactly. But at the same time, I don’t think I’d like to be there to_ watch _him fall._

 _Well, my fine fellow, since you have no control over the situation, I say better to be a trampoline than a megaphone._ _A trampoline, he can bounce off of. A megaphone just shouts at him all the way down._ With that, Balin raised his glass and took an appreciative sip of his whiskey. 

With a burst of laughter, Fíli conceded.

 _Fíli!_ Kíli bellowed from the loft portal. _Come up here!_

_If I come up, I’m not going back down!_

_Just come UP, will you!_

_You go on,_ said Balin kindly told Fili. _Unless you’ve moved them, I think I remember where the spare blankets are._

_Oh, Kíli._

_Do you like it?_

_Kíli._

Six long strings of white fairy lights criss-crossed the ceiling like a sky full of stars.

 _They run on watch batteries, so if there’s a storm like we had tonight, they won’t go out,_ Kíli rambled, holding Fíli snug against his chest so that he wouldn’t fall if he tipped his head back to view the lights. _Now watch this!_ From his back pocket, he pulled a tiny flat silver remote control. _We can have the galaxy all night, or only part. We can make it twinkle…_ He pushed a button, and the sea of lights began to gently flicker. _Look, Fili! Isn’t it amazing?_

 _Yes,_ Fíli breathed. He _was_ looking, not at the ceiling but at Kíli-- who was, after all, closer than any star.

** Kíli's Reading List **

  * _Bushcraft 101: A Field Guide to the Art of Wilderness Survival_ by Dave Canterbury
  * _How to Stay Alive in the Woods_ by Bradford Angier 
  * _Stalking the Wild Asparagus_ by Euell Gibbons
  * _The Whole Earth Catalog_ by Stewart Brand
  * _The Mother Earth News Almanac_ by John Shuttleworth
  * _Be Here Now_ by Ram Dass
  * _Monday Night Class_ and _Sunday Morning Services on the Farm_ by Stephen Gaskin
  * _Don’t Push the River (It Flows By Itself)_ by Barry Stephens
  * _The Golden Bough_ by Sir James George Frazer
  * _Shamanism: Archaic Techniques of Ecstasy_ by Mircea Eliade
  * _On the Road_ by Jack Kerouac
  * _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle_ Maintenance by Robert Pirsig
  * _The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test_ by Tom Wolfe
  * _Another Roadside Attraction_ by Tom Robbins
  * _Independent_ _People_ by Halldór Laxness
  * _The Man Who Fell in Love with the Moon_ by Tom Spanbauer
  * _Into the Wild_ by Sebastian Junger
  * _Tracks_ by Robyn Davidson
  * _Siddhartha_ by Hermann Hesse
  * _Person to Person: The Problem of Being Human,_ ed. by Carl Rogers
  * _The Man Who Loved Children_ by Christina Stead
  * _A Country of Strangers_ by Conrad Richter
  * _Cold Mountain_ by Charles Frazier
  * _Divine Right's Trip_ by Gurney Norman
  * _The Temple of Gold_ by William Goldman
  * _Orlando_ by Virginia Woolf




End file.
